


I Am Always Yours But Only Sometimes You Are Mine

by Caledonia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Beta Wanted, Closeted Character, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lost Love, M/M, Modern Era, Reality TV, Reunions, Set in Scotland again because I can't stop myself, Talent Shows, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caledonia/pseuds/Caledonia
Summary: A youth spent together - a decade spent apart, and a single song to bring them back together.





	I Am Always Yours But Only Sometimes You Are Mine

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I don't own rights to any of the characters and I'm not making money on this work. It hasn't been beta'd so my apologies if there's any typos - I tried my best.

Merlin stands at the side of the stage and waits. His mother is clasping his arm hard enough to bruise, but he doesn't pull away until the hosts of the show smile benevolently and usher him forward.

When he steps out onto the stage he reminds himself to keep breathing. The last thing he needs to do is pass out. He's come too far to fail now.

“Well, aren't you cute.” One of the judges says, and from here, with the glare of the lights in his eyes, Merlin honestly can't tell which one it is. He's so nervous he can barely function.

“What's your name?” a different judge asks, and Merlin forgets his own name for a split second. He swallows and adjusts the strap of his guitar, trying to still his shaking hands. When he speaks into the microphone he speaks too loudly, his voice cracking. Then he clears his throat and tries again.

“Merlin.” Merlin says and the crowd, predictably, laughs. Now that his eyes have adjusted, Merlin can see the judges and they are exchanging interesting looks. “Yes, Merlin like the wizard, and, yes, it's my real name.”

“Okay then. How old are you, Merlin?”

“I’m 28.”

“And what do you do?”

“I'm a fisherman.” There's a general murmur of laughter from the thousands strong audience, and Merlin smiles shyly. His hands are determined to shake and he adjusts the strap of his guitar again, trying to find comfort in the action. He rethinks his life choices for the millionth time, but it's too late to back down now.

“Are you nervous, Merlin?” One of the female judges asks, sounding kind.

“A wee bit, aye. I've never sung to anyone but my Mum before, and she's not exactly a tough audience.” There's another murmur of laughter, but this time they're not laughing at him, and Merlin feels himself slowly relaxing.

“And what are you going to sing for us today?” The historically friendlier of the two male judges asks. Merlin thinks it might be the same one who remarked that he was cute, but he can't be sure.

“It's a song I wrote myself.” Merlin says, swallowing back the wave of fear brought on by the idea of singing something only the open seas have heard before, but this is why he'd come here. He doesn't want to be a star, he only wants to sing loudly enough so the person for whom the song was written might, just possibly, hear him.

The eye roll from the harsher male judge can literally be seen from space. Merlin can tell no one in the room is impressed with him at the moment, and he can't decide whether that's a good or a bad thing. He reminds himself he doesn't want to win anything, he just wants his song to be on telly.

“What's it called?”

“Avalon.” Merlin says, and it sounds too loud again, too eager.

“And what's it about?”

“It's a love song.” The crowd titters, and Merlin re-thinks his description then tries again, “No, it’s not, it’s a…” Merlin's voice cracks again, from emotion this time and not from nerves. “It's an apology.”

“OK, well, let's hear it then.”

After that there is no more audience, no judges. There’s just Merlin and his guitar and the burn of too-bright stage lights on his face. An almost unearthly quiet falls on the room and Merlin settles himself, breathing deeply. It's just a song. A song he's sung a thousand times. More than a thousand - a million. He closes his eyes, takes a final deep breath, and begins.

Despite his nerves his voice rolls strong over the audience, sharing his words and all the longing and the fathoms-deep emptiness he's carried with him for nearly a decade. He sings of tides and cresting waves and the kind of gray sky where you can't locate the curve of the earth. He sings about the saltwater taste of tears and emptiness and I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

His mind plays the familiar reel of memories that drive him. Blue eyes afire with need in the darkness. Hours that lasted for days. Tangled arms and legs and sweltering heat. Firsts. Lasts. Promises. Loss. And underlying all of it a deep, swelling regret.

At the close of the song silence returns to the room like an exhaled breath held one agonising second too long and then the audience erupts into a tidal wave of cheers and an emphatic standing ovation.

Now that his eyes are used to the lights, Merlin can see that three of the four judges are crying and the fourth is staring at Merlin like he isn't sure whether what he's just witnessed was real or not.

Before the judgements are passed, Merlin closes his eyes for a long, still moment and hopes that, wherever he is in the world these days, Arthur is listening.

[--]

By midnight Merlin is cloistered in a dim, utilitarian room that feels quieter than it should considering the storm of activity going on in the rest of the building. Across the table from him sits a team of legal advisors. Apparently the show has them on standby just in case anything sensational happens. Anything like Merlin.

“For our sake, and yours, I hope you can be truthful.”

“We're trying to get a jump on the headlines.”

“Trying to skip to the front of the queue of people who are going crawl out of the woodwork over the next few days.”

“Claiming to be your long lost lover.”

“Or the *surprise* mother of your baby.”

Up until this point Merlin lets them just talk over each other, but at the last comment a laugh escapes him.

“What's funny?”

“Never had an indiscretion, Mr Emrys?”

“Naw, I've a few of those.” Merlin chuckles.

“Then why the smiles.”

“I'm gay, you see,” Merlin says, then lets it sink in. “So it'd have to be a very special baby to be mine.”

“Openly gay?”

“Aye, since I was twelve.”

A ripple of something like relief works its way through the team of lawyers.

“OK, then, that's one thing we don't have to worry about.”

“But…”

“Either way….”

“We need to know for whom the song was written.”

Merlin makes no move to answer the question. It's the only blank on the seven page questionnaire he'd filled out for them. A very detailed questionnaire which included personal questions like what his favourite food was, his favourite colour, a list of everyone he’d ever had a relationship with and whether he had any headline-worthy kinks when it came to sex.

“It's in your best interest to…”

“No.” Merlin says, shaking his head.

“Why the secrecy?”

“You said you're openly gay…”

“I am, aye, but he isn't.” Merlin watches the disappointment settle on all three lawyer’s faces. “Sorry, but this isn't my secret to tell.”

[--]

Merlin doesn’t watch the show when it airs. He and his mum are locked away in a posh hotel room in Glasgow and, as his mother watches the television, Merlin sits on the windowsill looking out over the city and wishes he were on his boat watching the waves roll past instead. His phone buzzes with a text alert not too long after the show starts and Merlin reads it right away, knowing it’s William and the news that Merlin needs to hear. The message simply reads _He was there._

Arthur had been in the audience that night. He’d been in the same room with Merlin, breathing the same air. They’d been closer to each other that night than any time since they were nineteen.

Merlin looks back out the window, but doesn’t see the city. He sees the full screen colour version of the memories he’s spent so long trying to repress. Him and Arthur and the three summers they spent curled around each other in a dusty attic room, or swimming together, clothesless limbs entwined, so far out into the ocean that they couldn’t see land. Trying to escape, trying to outrun the goodbye that was always hovering just out of sight.

[--]

They finally let him return to his village three days after the show airs. They offer to set him up with a hotel in Glasgow or London or anywhere the press can’t find him, but he declines. He dodges the swarm of reporters who shout questions at him, and when he steps into his local pub he’s met with a storm of cheers and laughter.

“Well lookie here, folks, it’s The Only Gay in the Village!” the barman quips, a tired line that nonetheless garners laughter from nearly everyone present. Will sidles up to him, pint in hand, and puts an arm around his shoulders as though to protect him from the crowd of people Merlin has known his entire life.

“Ignore them. Let’s drink.” Will says, leading Merlin towards the back of the pub where he’s commandeered the best table by the fire. Merlin obliges, following Will happily, with no desire to discuss the inevitable question of “Who’s it for, Merlin?”, the same question he’s painstakingly avoided since his song debuted.

“Tell us all about Glasgow, then.” Will says, letting Merlin get a few sips into his drink.

“Fucking nightmare, mate.” Merlin says, laughing. Will raises his glass in agreement. “You should have seen these questions they made me answer. What kind of clothes I wear,  what type of food I like to eat. The name of everyone I’ve ever slept with.”

“Who fucking cares?” Will says, and Merlin laughs along with him.

“Well, apparently everyone. It was a complete shit show. You should have seen their faces when I told them I wasn’t planning on following through with the rest of the competition. They brandished the paperwork in my face and I kindly pointed out that I hadn’t actually signed any of it, just drew a straight line. Tears, mate, and I’m not joking. One of the lawyers actually cried.”

“Brilliant. Fucking ace.” Will sips his drink, looking out at the rest of the crowded pub. When he’s sure no one is paying any attention to them he whispers, “Did you know he was going to be there?”

“I didn’t even think about it, to be honest.”

“Do you think he’ll contact you?”

“He’s the First Minister of Scotland, Will.” Merlin barely breathes. Will looks around them again, but no one is listening, and even if they were, Merlin’s voice is quieter than the sound of beer flowing from the taps. “He’s married, and he has two kids.”

“Step-kids.” Will points out, for what must be the seven millionth time. Will is the only person in the entire world who knows Arthur’s identity, the only person Merlin could trust with that information, and mainly because Will had clawed him back from the edge of blackness when Arthur left for the last time.

“Either way, Will, there’s no way in hell he’ll acknowledge me. Not a fucking chance.”

“Then why did you go to all this trouble?”

Merlin stares into the fire, his ears filled with long-ago sounds, his eyes clouded by long-ago visions. The deep love he and Arthur shared, the figuring-out, the desperation. Eventually he pulls himself back to the present conversation with Will, who is regarding him like this not-so-brief foray into memory is quite common (which it is). “I just wanted him to know. That’s all. I wanted him to know that I’m still his, even after all this time. I am always his, even though he isn't always mine.”

Will smiles kindly at Merlin and then chuckles, his whole chest rising with the action. “Fucking pathetic, mate, you know that?”

Merlin laughs along, draining the rest of his pint. “Aye, that I know.”

[--]

Less than a week later they fly Merlin to London for an interview with BBC Breakfast. After sitting patiently through hair and makeup he settles at the edge of the red sofa next to the presenters and waits for his cue. Dan and Carol try to loosen him up a bit as the weather segment plays, laughing and joking with him, but Merlin isn’t nervous. His audience for this performance isn’t larger than the one he’s already faced.

“And we have a special guest with us this morning. You may recognise him from his performance on Talented Britain, or you may be one of the 2.5 million people who have subsequently watched the video of him singing his self-proclaimed apology/love song, ‘Avalon’. We’d like to welcome Merlin to the show this morning.” Carol smiles at him benevolently.

“Thank you for having me.” Merlin responds, as he’s been prompted.

“Well, what can we say? Your song has been a sensation, Merlin. It’s almost historic how popular it’s become so quickly. Can you tell us why you’ve decided not to continue with the competition?”

“I have no interest in winning, in being famous.” Merlin says as seriously as he can.

“It’s a little late for that, I’m afraid.” Dan laughs, and looks at Carol for verification, and she nods.

“Far too late.”

“Yes, well, I guess I’ve figured that out.” Merlin says, laughing.

“If you don’t want fame or fortune, why did you audition for the show?” Dan asks.

“I wanted someone to hear my song.” Merlin says, truthfully.

“Ah, yes, and not just _any_ someone, if I’m guessing correctly.” Carol smiles, and Merlin smiles back at her - she just has one of those faces you can’t help but smile at. Merlin doesn’t feel any nerves at all, even though he’s agreed to play his song again in just a few minutes. He feels as though he’s back at his local discussing this with a few of his friends, and he knows that’s how they hope to catch him off guard. They’re journalists, after all.

“No, Carol, not just any someone. A specific someone.”

“Can you tell us anything about them?”

“ _Him._ ” Merlin clarifies, unabashed. “And, no, I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, come on, give us something!” Dan says, nudging Merlin with an elbow, “If not his name then something else. Eye colour? Hair colour? Which football team he supports.”

“I'm sorry, but no. I'm sure he has his own life, now, and I wouldn't want to disrupt that, not for anything.”

“Are you hoping he’ll try to find you?”

“To be honest, Dan, I never even considered it. We meant a lot to each other, once, but it was a long time ago. There was no negativity involved, our lives were just always on completely different paths. Do I wish it were different? Maybe, yes. But I have no hopes of finding him now. I just wanted him to hear my song, to know that he still means a lot to me, even after all this time.”

“And you thought that going on television would give you the best chance of that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you never know - he might try to track you down. It’s probably a lot easier now that the entire country seems to be obsessed with you.” Dan says with an altogether too cheeky smile and wink.

“To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t remember me at all.”

“If your song is anything to go by, he will remember.” Carol says, and her eyes are soft. Merlin smiles again, aware all of a sudden of the cameras pointed at him.

“Aye, well, that may be, but I didn’t write ‘Avalon’ to get him back, I just wanted him to know.”

[--]

After three more live performances of 'Avalon’ and three more interviews that might as well be copies of each other, Merlin's life basically returns to normal. There are still incessant newspaper articles and the occasional paparazzi who turn up in the village, but leave soon after realising that every photo of Merlin in his fishing gear is going to look exactly like every other one that's already been printed.

A half a dozen times Merlin politely declines job offers from record companies, modelling agencies and, on one spectacularly memorable occasion, a gay porn agency -  his mum had slapped both of those guys smartly round the face and sent them running.

Every now and then a strange man will roll through town and blatantly try get Merlin into bed, but Merlin laughs them off and Will happily sees off any of them that don’t get the hint right away. The entire village has a laugh about it, how Merlin has suddenly become some sort of commodity, slightly confused

that Merlin would rather just be out on his boat hauling nets.

Merlin detaches himself from all sources of media, except the Shipping Forecast, of course. He thinks of Arthur every day, but that hasn’t changed. It’s been like that since they were kids, and Merlin knows it will be like that for the rest of his life. He is content to return to his quayside life, his rolling waves, and his endless horizon.

About two months after the filming of the show, Merlin returns home to find a copy of a newspaper folded under his pillow. The headline reads _Arthur Pendragon Resigns From Politics Amidst Divorce Rumours_. Merlin burns the paper in the wood stove and spends the rest of the night pretending. He doesn’t bring the subject up again, and neither does Will.

In December the pub hosts a watch party for the semi finals and finals of the talent show Merlin had backed out of. It surprises him that so many months later they can still be interested in talking about his song and his “sensational” decision to not continue with the competition. The other acts are interviewed on the subject and mostly they say they’re glad Merlin isn’t there because he undoubtedly would have won the whole thing.

The entire village turns out to watch the final and there’s bets on who is going to win, but Merlin just sits with Will at the table by the fire and nurses pint after pint of hard cider, just wanting the night to be over. Next season no one will even remember his existence, and he’s quite happy to get back to that, thank you very much.

[--]

In mid-March Merlin comes home just after dawn, having overseen the sales of his catch at market. He’s exhausted, he’s cold, and he smells like the sea, sweat, and fish. His plans are simple: hot shower, then sleep. What he doesn't expect is to find a blurry-eyed Arthur drinking tea at his kitchen table. Merlin blinks slowly to make sure he's not imagining him, then he sets his things down by the back door, stepping laboriously out of his boots.

“You think I don't think about you every day, too?” Arthur says, and it's the first words he's said to Merlin in almost ten years. His voice has deepened slightly over time and it curls through Merlin like dense fog. “I've never stopped thinking about you, about us.”

Merlin stands, transfixed, caught between a desire to kiss Arthur and a desire to hear him say all the things Merlin's been wanting him to say for years.

“You're the one who disappeared. I've tried everything to find you. Well, everything _legal_. You would think it would be easy to find a man named Merlin, but you vanished. I tried to find you.”

“You got married.” Merlin says, and he’s not ashamed of the hurt he hears in his voice. Arthur looks up at Merlin, finally meeting his eyes, and Merlin can feel himself unmooring. Arthur's eyes are the same clear-sky blue they were years ago, and Merlin could never resist them then, either.

“It wasn't… it was complicated. Her husband died, and she was penniless. I married her to save her from living on the streets. We aren't in love. She knows about me.”

“And I was supposed to know this, how?” Merlin says, not sure he believes Arthur’s explanation of his marriage. The papers had made it seem like a love match, not a marriage of convenience.

“You vanished! It’s not as though I could call you up and explain everything!” Arthur retorts, standing from his chair. He’s almost exactly an inch shorter than Merlin, and Merlin remembers how well they had fit together, tangled in bed sheets and sweat and promises and pain.

“You weren't out. You told me you couldn't ever come out. I didn't want to be in your way. I didn’t want to ruin your life.” Merlin says, and he hears his own 19-year-old uncertainty in his 28-year-old voice.

“I was nineteen! I was terrified of losing my father's approval and love, I thought coming out as gay would ruin my relationship with the only parent I'd ever known.” Arthur takes a step towards Merlin and Merlin is suddenly conscious of the fact that he smells like seawater, fish guts and seven hours’ hard labour. “I was nineteen and I was stupid.”

“I stayed away from you for the right reasons, Arthur.” Merlin tries, again, to explain himself, and he’s not going to back down. From the information he'd had, his decision had been the right one, and he was still sure of it.

Arthur takes another step forward and Merlin fights the instinct to step away from him. “I was there in Glasgow that night, when you sang that song.” Arthur says, his eyes trained on Merlin's mouth. “Did you know I was going to be there?”

Merlin shakes his head, no. “I just wanted you to hear me, wherever you were. Know that I am always yours.” Merlin says, his own eyes straying towards Arthur's lips. “I watched you all these years. If there had been even one small signal, one hint, I would have gone to you. I have always been yours, always.”

“She was with me that night, too. Watching me watch you. She knew your name, we'd talked about her helping me find you and there you were singing a song about us. She urged me to go to you after, but I was scared.”

Merlin considers this, wishes he could see Arthur watching him that night, wishes Arthur had found him sooner.

“You've had months now to tell the world who I am, who you wrote that song for. You never would have told them, would you?”

“Never. I left to keep your secret a secret, that was the only reason I stayed away from you. Ten years of misery, of missing the parts that make me whole, all to keep you safe and happy.”

Arthur takes a step closer, his hand cups the side of Merlin's face and Merlin turns into the touch, exhaling slowly.

“No reason is good enough to keep us apart. Not again. Not ever.” Arthur says, and he brings his lips to Merlin's, the first of a million kisses in the days and weeks to come.

When they break apart Arthur's face is wrinkled and Merlin laughs.

“Nothing could keep us apart any longer except maybe how bad I smell.” Merlin laughs, and Arthur joins him.

“Astonishingly bad. Really, truly disgusting. I'm actually struggling to breathe.” Arthur says, pretending to gag.

And just like that they're exactly where they left off so many years before.

Well, actually, later, when they're naked in Merlin's small bed, limbs interlocked like an intricate knot, breathing the same air in sync - that's when they're exactly where they left off.

[--]

That summer there's auditions for a talent show held in Glasgow, but Merlin doesn't attend. He turns down the interviews and is determined not to relive his fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

Arthur and he spend a lot of time together on Merlin's boat, and a lot more time together clinging to each other in the desperation borne of nearly a decade spent apart - each of them belonging equally to the other.

When they're sailing and the nets are out and the sun is shining Merlin sometimes brings out his guitar and sings, but a about happiness and fulfillment and no longer about loss or regret, and each day the horizon grows infinitesimally closer.

**Author's Note:**

> The sort of song I imagine Merlin singing is this one: [400 Bones by Frightened Rabbit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=YHoHXF8Rxo0)
> 
> Also the title is taken from a drawing by [Devoted Bee](http://www.devotedbee.com/), which I couldn't find a copy of online.


End file.
